


He's Not Heavy

by sevenfists



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-03
Updated: 2006-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: Dean hasn't had sex in three months, and it's all Sam's fault.





	He's Not Heavy

Dean hasn't had sex in three months, and it's _all Sam's fault_. The little cockblocking bastard is dead set on making sure that Dean's balls shrivel up and fall off from lack of use. He can hardly even _jerk off_ in peace anymore: if he does it in the shower, Sam waltzes right into the bathroom and flushes the toilet; if he does it in bed late at night, Sam's freaky bat ears pick up every rustle of the sheets, and he climbs into bed with Dean, claiming he's had a nightmare. It's enough to make Dean _insane_.

So Dean's pretty goddamn mad when Sam ambles into the restaurant with a big shit-eating grin on his face. Dad's sleeping after a hard job, and they've been left to their own devices, meaning Dean has the car keys and _was_ planning on getting laid, hopefully by Maria the waitress, who just a moment ago was popping open another button on her blouse and giving Dean a glimpse of the Promised Land. But now Sam's sliding his skinny butt on the stool next to Dean's, propping his elbows on the counter and smiling at Dean like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Dean's pretty sure that it _would_.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Sam asks.

Dean grinds his teeth. "Sam, this is Maria. Maria, my brother, Sam."

"Nice to meet you," Sam says, all teeth and dimples. Maria's smiling, taking it all in stride. She clearly thinks Sam's adorable. Dean feels a muscle in his jaw start to twitch.

"You didn't tell me you had a little brother," Maria says, playfully smacking Dean's shoulder. Dean has a startled moment of hope where he thinks that maybe he can work the whole Responsible Older Brother angle.

But then Sam says, "We'd better be getting back to the motel, it's time for Dad's meds."

"Oh, is your father sick?" Maria asks. "I'm so sorry! That's awful! I hope he feels better."

And of course Dean can't do anything at that point but pay the tab and follow Sam out of the restaurant.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" he snaps at Sam as soon as they get outside. "Time for Dad's meds? What the fuck! What meds! You're just making this shit up!"

"Yeah, pretty much," Sam says, undaunted by Dean's rage.

"I hope you die an unnatural death," Dean says.

"No you don't." Sam's calm as anything, looking up at the clouds, barely even paying attention to Dean as they walk across the parking lot toward the motel. When Dean was sixteen, he argued with Dad a whole lot and skipped physics to make out with the cheerleaders. _Normal_ stuff. Sam's so fucking obsessed with normality; why can't he just act like a regular teenager? This wise-and-detached bullshit is really starting to get on Dean's nerves.

"I need to find you a fucking cheerleader," Dean says.

"Good luck with that," Sam says.

They spend the next two weeks tracking down and wiping out a nest of sphinxes in Nevada, so Dean doesn't have any time to spend worrying about the lack of pussy in his life. He breaks a bone in his left hand, one of the metacarpals, and gets a concussion. Sam nearly loses an eye.

"That's gonna leave one hell of a scar," Dean says while he stitches him up. The cut starts right above Sam's eyebrow and runs along the outside corner of his eye. It's a bad cut, and sphinx claws are poisoned. Dad's worried about infection, but Dean thinks it'll take a lot more than one pissed-off sphinx to do Sam in.

"It'll be fine, I'll just use lots of Neosporin," Sam says.

Dean smirks. "Dude, you'll need _plastic surgery_ for that shit."

"I thought you said chicks like scars."

"Yeah, but since when are you interested in _chicks_?" Dean asks, his tone full of dirty innuendo.

"Dean, shut up!" Sam says, turning red.

"There's nothing wrong with liking other boys, Sammy."

"I hope your dick rots," Sam mutters. Dean jabs the needle in a little harder than he needs to. Sam yelps and flinches, and Dean's stitch goes awry.

"Fucking hold still!" he snaps.

"Boys," Dad says from the other side of the room, looking sternly over his newspaper.

They keep bickering, though, and Dad gets fed up and gives them twenty bucks and tells them if they don't leave him alone for a couple hours, he's going to leave them by the side of the road with a cardboard sign that says, "Free to a Good Home."

They go to Starbuck's. Dean's picked up a lot of older, yuppie women at Starbuck's. They all act like they want an _intellectual,_ someone who'll listen to them talk about their emotions or whatever, but Dean's young and he's good-looking and he talks a great line of bullshit, and the women are always pleased as punch to shell out for a motel room.

He buys Sam a copy of the New York Times and the girliest coffee he can come up with, flavor shots and layers of whipped cream. "Drink this and sit in this chair and don't move," he orders.

"Okay, Dean," Sam chirps, smiling sweetly. Dean's suspicious, but there's a hot redhead eyeing him from the other side of the room, and he's already too distracted to pay much attention to Sam's insubordination.

Dean sidles up to the woman and introduces himself. She thinks he's kinda skeezy - he can see it in the way she looks at him, her eyes narrowed slightly, like she's a little disgusted with herself - but she's charmed, she's eating it up, she's laughing at him and touching his arm.

Then there's movement behind him, and he turns his head a little. It's Sam, and he slides an arm around Dean's waist and says, "Hi, honey."

 _Honey_? Dean almost has a heart attack right then and there. He opens his mouth but can't think of a damn thing to say.

"I'm done with the paper, so we can leave anytime," Sam's saying, and he turns his head and presses a kiss to Dean's cheek.

The redhead looks shocked and a little mad. Dean gives her a sheepish smile. She raises an eyebrow at him and turns back to her laptop.

Dean can feel a vein throbbing in his forehead. He's so mad he can't speak. He grabs Sam by the arm and hauls him outside, pulling him around to the rear of the building so that fewer people will witness the murder that's about to take place.

"Dean, let go, you're hurting my arm," Sam whines.

"Too fucking bad," Dean snarls, and shoves Sam up against the brick wall beside the Starbuck's dumpster. He is going to _kill_ Sam, but slowly, so that he'll remember the pain even after he's _dead_.

"Dean," Sam says again, and he actually looks a little scared, and that's enough to make Dean let go of Sam's shirt and back away a little. He takes a deep breath, lets it back out. Sam's still watching him, wide-eyed.

"Okay," Dean says, trying to keep his voice level. "Something is clearly going on with you. I don't know what the hell it is, but you need to quit cockblocking me like a little bitch."

Sam kicks at the asphalt. "I don't want you to have sex with those people," he blurts.

Dean almost chokes. "Yeah, well, I don't want you to act like a _cunt_ , but I don't see that happening anytime soon."

Sam's red-faced, but he's looking straight at Dean, chin up a little, defiant. "It's just. You're always going _off_ with somebody, like after hunts and stuff, and what if something happens and we can't find you?"

Which makes absolutely no sense, but Dean hears what Sam's really saying: _I want you to pay attention to me, I want you to like me best_. And suddenly it all clicks into place for Dean, all the weird stuff Sam's been doing for the last few months. Because Sam's sixteen, and probably horny as hell, and Dean isn't exactly subtle about how much ass he gets. Sam's _envious_. And he probably feels like he's too old to follow Dean around all the time, but he clearly still _wants_ to, and Dean's just been making it worse by trying to ditch him constantly.

All the anger drains out of Dean's body. He feels like an asshole. He's _been_ sixteen, he _knows_ what it's like, but he's just kept treating Sam like a little kid and he needs to stop it.

"You know, you could pass for eighteen. I bet we could get you into a bar," Dean says.

Sam lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Well, it's worth a shot," Dean says, and slings an arm over Sam's shoulders. Then he pulls his arm downward and gets Sam in a headlock. "But I swear to God, Sam, you try to interfere with my action again, I will kick your ass so hard you'll be feeling it a month later."

Sam flaps his arms, twists around trying to break free, but Dean's got him trapped. "Okay, okay!" he says finally. "I'll stop. Let go."

"Say uncle," Dean says, and Sam writhes around some more, but he says it, and Dean releases him.

"You're such an asshole!" Sam says, cracking his neck.

"It's true," Dean says. "C'mon, maybe I'll even buy you a beer."  



End file.
